


it never felt right calling this just friends

by sevensevan



Series: from dawn [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, F/F, Friends to Lovers, GUYS, Now With A Second Chapter, also very late, but entirely standalone, but the gay is the important bit, gay™, i firmly believe sara would have the dirtiest mouth ever if arrow wasn't CW, is even gayer than the first, like i am genuinely shocked at how gay it is, oliver and sara are bros, rated for language, set in the from dawn 'verse, this is so gay, which by some should-be impossible way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-10-19 21:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensevan/pseuds/sevensevan
Summary: Sara goes to boarding school and meets the love of her life. Or, Sara, Nyssa and working towards permanence. (Set in the from dawn 'verse, but an entirely standalone work).





	1. break out, break out (as we escape through the windows)

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this was supposed to be up like two months ago but i never claimed to be motivated. it feels kind of choppy in places to me, but y'all should leave comments and tell me what you think. title from walls by all time low, which is weird because that song is not about a successful, healthy relationship. enjoy. this will almost definitely have a second chapter, just fyi.

When Sara arrives at Nanda Parbat Academy, the first thing she learns is that no one actually calls it that. Apparently, a particularly rebellious teenager some years ago had decided Purgatory was a more fitting name (Sara internally agrees with her), and it is now universally accepted as the true title of the school.

The second thing she learns is that while the stereotype that every girl at all-girls boarding school is gay isn’t necessarily true…it’s certainly a stereotype for a reason. She sees couple after couple, in the hallways, in the shared areas in the dorm building, in the yard outside, and while it doesn’t bother her per se, and she’s certainly never considered herself homophobic, it does give her an odd feeling in her chest, like a thousand tiny birds have perched on her ribs and are fluttering their wings.

Sara Lance does not like to be contained; and while she could accept being sent to boarding school (she had tried to rob a convenience store; at least it isn’t legal action), by the end of the first week, her room is beginning to feel like a cage. She doesn’t have a roommate, and she’s far off to one end of the dorm building, where it’s much quieter, but the constant shade from the massive tree outside her window makes her feel like the walls of her little box are gradually shrinking.

So, on her first Friday afternoon in Purgatory, Sara climbs out to the exterior window ledge of her second story room and jumps for a branch extending from the tree towards her room.

She misses, falls fifteen feet, lands with one foot awkwardly positioned on an exposed root, and feels every muscle and tendon in her ankle twist and bend and stretch in a horribly unhealthy manner.

For a moment, as she lies there, curled up on a bed of leaves and groaning in pain while clutching her ankle, Sara remembers how nearly everyone had taken the bus into town, and she fears that no one will find her, dreading the long hobble inside to the infirmary.

Then the window directly above her own opens, and a girl sticks her head out. Her face is in shadow, as she’s looking thirty feet down at Sara with the sun behind her, and it’s framed in dark hair that hangs down around her. She clearly sees Sara, because the strange girl climbs up on to her own windowsill. Sara almost calls out, about to warn her not to attempt the jump.

The other girl leaps from her window towards the tree before the blonde can speak. She moves like a jungle cat, with beautifully efficient, graceful power. Her limbs stretch out in either direction, nearly bridging the gap between building and tree. She collides with it, latching on as if she does this every day (for all Sara knows, she does), and, seemingly without pause, continues moving, dropping from branch to branch so fast that Sara would think that she’s falling if it didn’t look so flawlessly planned and executed.

“Hello,” the dark-haired girl says as her feet make contact with the leaves beside Sara. She doesn’t even look winded, casually brushing a leaf from the shoulder of her jacket. “Do you need assistance to get to the infirmary?” She has an accent, Sara notes. It’s smooth and lilting and gives Sara a strange tingly sensation in her chest, but she brushes it off in favor of the more pressing issue.

“That’d be nice,” Sara half-says, half-grunts. She rolls on to her good foot and stands on it. For a moment, she’s proud of the movement and how smooth it looks, until she begins to lose her balance. She tips forward, instinctively lowering her other foot once more. Before she can put weight on it, though, the other girl catches her by the elbow, steadying her. Sara can feel the heat of her hand through her thin cotton shirt. Strangely enough, it makes her shiver. Shaking off the sensation, she asks, “What’s your name?”

“Nyssa,” the other girl (who Sara can now tell is several inches taller than her) says. “And you?”

“Sara,” the blonde informs Nyssa. The taller girl pulls the arm she’s holding over her shoulders and wraps an arm around Sara’s ribcage, preparing them for the long trek to the infirmary.

“What were you doing to cause this injury?” Nyssa asks as they enter the building. Whether it’s out of politeness, a desire to break the awkward silence, or genuine curiosity, Sara can’t tell.

“I was jumping for the tree,” she explains. Nyssa glances over at her with an unreadable expression. In fact, Sara is noticing that most of Nyssa’s expressions are identically inscrutable.

“Did you wish to climb it?” she questions. Sara nods. “You understand you could’ve simply left the building and started at the ground?”

Sara doesn’t really have an answer for that.

“Well, yeah,” she agrees. “I could’ve. But I didn’t.” Nyssa shakes her head slowly at the shorter girl.

“You are certainly odd, Sara,” she states, the corner of her mouth turning up in what Sara decides to interpret as the ghost of a smile. That, and the way Nyssa says her name (she decides right then that she’s never liked her name more than when it’s coming from Nyssa’s lips), is enough to make Sara miss half a step, stumbling slightly. The instant Nyssa feels her begin to fall, the taller girl’s arm is tighter around her, all but picking her up. _With one arm_.

“Oh, my God, you’re strong,” is what decides to come out of Sara’s mouth, and while she instantly turns red, she doesn’t regret saying it, because it makes Nyssa’s faint smile get just a little bit wider.

“You’re light as a bird,” Nyssa returns. “One would think you could simply fly to the tree.” Sara looks at her quizzically.

“Are you…mocking me?” she asks. Nyssa glances at her.

“Is that unacceptable?” she questions. Sara shakes her head, laughing at this confident girl’s sudden uncertainty.

“Not at all,” she reassures. “A bird, huh?” Nyssa nods. “Like, what kind of bird? Because I have to be a badass bird. Like a hawk or an eagle or something.”

“A canary,” Nyssa states authoritatively, as if she’s thoroughly considered all possibilities and decided that this is the indisputable conclusion.

“A canary?” Sara asks incredulously. “That’s, like, the _least_ badass bird you could possibly choose.”

“Nevertheless,” Nyssa murmurs. “It’s suiting.” They stop, and Sara almost asks why, before she looks up and realizes that somehow, they’ve made it all the way to the infirmary. Nyssa helps her inside, nods to the student aide who’s standing behind the desk, and sets Sara in a chair. The blonde takes a moment to adjust her ankle (which is now disturbingly swollen; she isn’t sure she’ll be able to remove her shoe) and when she looks up, Nyssa is gone.

 

XxX

 

Sara Lance is not shy. She is not indecisive. And she is not afraid to go after what she wants. So, the following Monday, she limps her way across the cafeteria to where Nyssa is sitting (alone, strangely; Sara would expect someone that pretty to be popular, but the other girl is by herself with a salad and an open book), sets her tray down, does an awkward half-hop wiggle onto the bench, and announces, “I’m sitting here.” Nyssa looks up from her book and regards her silently.

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the right just a bit. Sara shrugs.

“Because I want to,” she states. The intensity of Nyssa’s gaze makes her shift uncomfortably. The other girl’s eyes are dark, darker than any she’s seen before. They’re beautiful, terrifying, and completely unreadable.

“You may not wish to do that,” she says. Before Sara can ask why, Nyssa glances around meaningfully, prompting the blonde to do the same. People aren’t staring, exactly, but those closer to the table the two girls are seated at are darting glances at them, as if they’re scared to look for too long.

“Are you like the school pariah or something?” Sara asks, turning back to the other girl. Nyssa gazes at her impassively.

“My isolation is by choice,” she states. “I ask that people do not sit with me. Or speak to me when unnecessary. Or interact with me in general, really.” Sara doesn’t respond, waiting for an explanation. One is not forthcoming.

“Why?” she questions. Nyssa lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug and turns back to her book. “Well, I’m sitting here. You don’t have to talk to me, but I’m sitting here.” Nyssa glances up again, giving the blonde an appraising look.

“That is acceptable,” she agrees. She picks up her book this time, and Sara glances at the cover.

“Are you voluntarily reading a chemistry textbook?” she asks before she can stop herself. Nyssa’s eyes flick up, this time with overtones of annoyance.

“What happened to not having to talk?” the other girl says. Sara shrugs.

“Just curious,” she mumbles. “Sorry.” Nyssa shakes her head.

“Do not apologize for things you do not regret,” she says. “I would like to actually read now.” Sara nods, not in the least apologetic.

Lunch passes silently, and for the first time in her life, Sara finds that the quiet doesn’t bother her.

 

XxX

 

All of Sara’s first semester in Purgatory passes in a similar manner. She doesn’t make many friends, mostly due to her association with Nyssa. It doesn’t bother her. She sits with the other girl at lunch, mainly in silence. Her ankle is healed by the time she reaches her seventh week. She passes her classes with decent grades. All in all, her boarding school experience is significantly less exciting than she had hoped for. Intriguing, certainly; Nyssa is an enigma, and Sara would like nothing more than to understand her. She isn’t quite sure why the dark-haired girl is so captivating to her, but she finds herself watching Nyssa from a distance whenever the opportunity arises. Without consciously noticing, she memorizes the way the other girl moves (graceful, flowing, like she’s floating above the ground rather than walking on it), the way she speaks, every single minute expression she makes, even the single strand of hair that always insists on slipping down in front of her face as she reads, and the way Nyssa pushes it out of the way like it’s an afterthought, like the distraction hardly registers through how involved she is in whatever dense scientific or historic tome she’s reading that week.

And so, when Sara goes home on a Saturday morning for Christmas break, carrying a suitcase and a mediocre report card, she realizes just how much she misses Nyssa the moment she climbs into her father’s car. And she realizes that it utterly terrifies her.

Sara is not used to being scared. She isn’t afraid of anything; she’s never been afraid of anything. When she was a child, she terrified her parents by running across roads without looking, climbing the tallest trees she could find, jumping off of swing sets, and generally risking her life for an adrenaline rush or simply because she didn't notice the danger. Not once did the idea of _fear_ stop her.

But as she sits in the passenger seat of Quentin’s car, answering his questions with grunted monosyllables (let in never be said that she isn’t good at holding grudges; her father sent her to boarding school and she _will_ put up an angry front, regardless of her true feelings on the subject) and watching Nanda Parbat disappear in the rearview mirror, she can feel her very soul crying out to be returned to Nyssa, and it makes her hands tremble with fear.

 

XxX

 

“Something’s different about you,” Laurel says quietly to Sara over dinner one night. They’ve ordered pizza, as Quentin is out late for an investigation and Laurel has decided to have a sisters’ night. Sara is somewhat less enthusiastic; there is a book in her room she promised Nyssa she would read over break (it’s an obnoxiously dense exploration of feminist history, and while Sara happily advocates for the ideas, struggling her way through eight hundred pages of dates, names, and times isn’t her favorite pastime). However, after Laurel pays for the pizza and offers Sara an entire box, the blonde decides that she can sit through the interrogation that is sure to follow. “Did something happen at Nanda…Nanda Par…” she grimaces. She has proven herself entirely unable to pronounce the name of Sara’s new school. Laurel thinks it’s embarrassing. Sara thinks it’s hilarious.

“I’ve been gone for four months,” Sara replies, rolling her eyes. “How much _could_ happen?” Laurel doesn’t respond, tilting her head at Sara and frowning.

“Something has changed,” she insists. “You seem…quieter, maybe? Not in a bad way,” she hurries to correct herself after seeing the look on Sara’s face. “You just…you don’t talk as much. And you read a lot more.” Sara shrugs.

“I made friends with a nerd,” she quips. “I guess she rubbed off on me.” Laurel’s eyes light up, latching onto the new information.

“What’s her name? You haven’t talked at all about your friends there,” she says, the words pouring out of her excitedly. “What’s she like?” Sara frowns a bit.

“I…don’t really know,” she says slowly. “She’s quiet. She likes to read. Everyone is scared of her and I haven’t really figured out why yet. Oh! She’s really good at climbing trees, and she wears, like, a ridiculous amount of black…” she trails off, catching the smirk on Laurel’s face. “What?” Sara asks. Laurel shakes her head.

“Nothing,” she says. “It’s just that look on your face. It’s like a watered down version of how Oliver looks when he’s talking about Felicity.”

Instantly, Sara feels hot. Her skin starts to crawl, and she shifts in her seat, rubbing her palms on her jeans in a futile attempt to stop them from sweating. She swears she can hear a ringing in her ears.

“I’m not gay,” she blurts. Laurel looks at her skeptically.

“Aren’t you?” she questions. “Because it sounded like–“

“I’m not!” Sara abruptly stands, her chair screeching as it slides across their kitchen floor. They both wince at the sound, and the sudden air of anger and discomfort in the room. “I’m…I’m not. Okay?” She practically bolts for the hall to her room, waving off Laurel’s concern and apologies and offers of pizza with an “I’m not hungry.”

She locks the door behind her and leans back against it with a heavy sigh. It’s back again; that creeping, insidious fear that had wound its way in between her ribs and squeezed when she left Purgatory. It’s back now, when Laurel questioned her sexuality, gripping her insides tightly, and the implications of _that_ …Well, they only serve to feed the terror more.

 

XxX

 

“Nyssa.” The taller girl doesn’t respond, hurrying up the stairs. “Nyssa!” She turns a corner, and Sara has to practically run to catch up with her. “Hey! Nyssa!” Finally, Sara grabs Nyssa’s arm, spinning her around and grabbing her by the shoulders. “What’s going on?” Nyssa doesn’t meet her eyes. She barely even glances in Sara’s direction, gazing off to the side instead.

“Please release me,” she says quietly. Sara hesitantly lets go of Nyssa, ready to catch her arm if she tries to bolt again.

“What is your problem?” the shorter girl snaps. “Did I piss you off or something?” Nyssa keeps her eyes focused over Sara’s shoulder, carefully avoiding looking her in the eye.

“I do not believe we should speak to each other anymore,” Nyssa murmurs, and Sara feels her ribcage contract.

“What?” she manages to whisper. Finally, Nyssa meets her gaze, and for once, Sara can read everything in her mind written out across her face in perfect detail.

“My father,” she says. “He does not approve.”

“What does your father have to do with anything?” Sara asks, frowning in confusion. Nyssa’s eyes widen slightly.

“You don’t know,” she whispers. “You really don’t know.” Sara stares at her blankly.

“Know what?” she asks.

“My father is Ra’s al Ghul,” Nyssa reveals, and Sara takes a step back.

“Your father is Ra’s al Ghul,” she echoes. Nyssa nods. “As in, _the_ Ra’s al Ghul. The discipline officer. The crazy homophobic one.” Nyssa nods again.

Ra’s al Ghul is a bit of a legend at Purgatory. No one is quite sure how long he’s worked there (the general consensus is _too long_ ), and they’re even less sure why a homophobic misogynist would choose to work at an all-girls’ boarding school, but regardless of his origins or twisted reasoning, everyone is quite sure of his purpose. He patrols the cafeteria and the hallway behind the gym, handing out every legal punishment he can to anyone he catches within six inches of each other.

“I thought you knew,” Nyssa says softly, snapping Sara out of her uncomprehending confusion. “Everyone knows. I’m sorry, I simply assumed you knew as well.” Sara shakes her head slowly, her mind struggling to connect the cold, angry, hateful man who handed out detentions to girls for holding hands to the quiet, intelligent girl in front of her. “I understand if this changes things for you,” Nyssa continues, and finally, Sara finds her words once more.

“It doesn’t,” she reassures the other girl immediately. “He doesn’t scare me. I don’t care if he approves or not, you’re my friend. He doesn’t get to take that away from us.” Sara knows Nyssa will never admit it (she’s never been good at saying what she feels, or even knowing what she feels), but Sara watches some of the tension fade from Nyssa’s shoulders at her words. “Besides,” she continues. “What’s his problem? We aren’t gay.”

Silence. Nyssa looks at her quietly, uncharacteristic shyness in her gaze. Eventually, she murmurs, “You aren’t.”

“Oh,” Sara breathes, more of an exhale than a word. “ _Oh_.” She says nothing for an extended moment, long enough for the stress to return to Nyssa’s posture. “Um. Does he know?” The stress stays; Nyssa’s neck is taut, jaw clenching and unclenching, as she pushes herself away from Sara and closer to the wall behind her.

“I do not believe he would take such issue with others if he was unaware of his own daughter’s…flaws,” she mutters, voice layered with sardonic humor.

“Don’t talk like that,” Sara admonishes. “You’re perfect, Nyssa.” The comment is rewarded with a half-smirk, which is more expression than Sara usually sees from her friend in a week.

“Hardly,” Nyssa says. “But thank you, Sara.” Sara nods, and the moment stretches. Finally, Sara decides that enough dramatic staring is enough, and she takes a half-step forward, pulling the taller girl into a hug. Nyssa stiffens momentarily, before relaxing more than Sara has ever seen her and returning the embrace.

“What is this for?” Nyssa asks softly, so quiet Sara can barely hear her.

“You seemed like you needed it,” Sara says simply, and maybe the way Nyssa shifts, sliding a hand into Sara’s hair and pulling her closer, isn’t entirely platonic, and the feeling Sara gets in her chest at the motion (like ten thousand birds just took flight inside her ribcage) is definitely not a _just friends_ feeling, but it doesn’t matter, because it feels right.

 

XxX

 

Sara looks around her room, one bag on her back and a suitcase sitting next to her. She feels strange; her ribs are constricting around her heart again. It’s not fear, this time, it’s uncertainty. She doesn’t know why her stomach flutters when she sees Nyssa. She doesn’t know why the idea of going home, back to her father and her sister and her friends back in Starling, back to everybody she’s supposed to care about, makes her feel like someone carved a hole straight through her chest. She doesn’t even know if she’s coming back to Nanda Parbat next year (nine months ago, the idea of returning to Purgatory would’ve made her physically ill; now, there is nothing she can imagine that she would want more).

“Hello,” a familiar voice announces, pulling Sara from her internal maelstrom of confusion. The blonde turns to the window, where the voice is coming from. Nyssa is hanging from a branch of the tree, hands gripping the limb, face and upper body level with Sara’s three-foot-tall window. She has a small, hesitant smile on her face. Sara can’t help the fond laugh that she emits at the image.

“Get in here, Romeo,” she jokes, opening the window a little wider (it was already open; Sara loves the air at Nanda Parbat. It’s clean and pure and has none of the smoke and pollution so prevalent in Starling City). She steps out of the way. Nyssa swings back and forth, once, twice, and lets go, sailing through the open window in a ball without touching the sides or the books stacked on top of the bookshelf underneath it. She lands in a roll and stands gracefully. Sara watches the smooth movement with envy and something that probably qualifies as lust, although she tries not to think about that. She closes the window behind the taller girl.

“So,” Nyssa says. Sara looks at her, amused. Nyssa is not awkward. Quiet, certainly. But certifiably unflappable, and never awkward. This is a new side of her friend, and somewhere in her mind, Sara files it away as yet another thing she likes about her. “You are leaving.”

“I’m leaving,” Sara agrees. Nyssa nods, looking like she’s working herself up to saying something.

“Will you come back?” she asks suddenly, and it sounds strange. It doesn’t sound like a girl asking her friend a simple question. It’s quiet and rushed and tinged heavily with desperation.

“I don’t know,” Sara admits. “I…haven’t talked to my dad about it yet.” Nyssa nods again. She doesn’t meet Sara’s eyes. The blonde wonders where the teasing lightness of only moments before went.

“I am not used to asking for things for myself,” Nyssa begins, so quietly that Sara has to lean in to hear her. “My father says that such selfishness is a sign of weakness.”

“We’ve been over how everything that your father says is complete bullshit,” Sara says immediately. Nyssa nods.

“I know,” she says. “And that is why…” She licks her lips, and Sara’s eyes track the movement unconsciously. “Please come back, Sara,” she says, and the younger girl is completely unprepared for the raw emotion in Nyssa’s tone. If she was anyone else, Sara would think that she’s about to cry, but Nyssa al Ghul does not cry. It’s like a kick to the chest, the roughness, the unbridled fear and hope and turmoil in Nyssa’s voice.

“Hey,” Sara murmurs. “Hey, it’s okay.” She steps forward, dropping her bag on the bed, pulling Nyssa into her and wrapping her arms around the taller girl, holding her as tightly as she can. The moment of hesitation actions like this used to elicit from Nyssa has long since disappeared entirely, and the other girl grabs onto Sara like she’s a lifeline.

“I will miss you,” Nyssa whispers against Sara’s ear. The blonde shivers at the sensation.

“I’ll call you,” Sara says. “I promise.” Before they can say more, Sara’s phone beeps from where it’s lying on the bed. “That’s probably my dad,” she comments, shifting back slightly but not breaking the embrace. “I have to go.” Nyssa finally releases her, resting her hands on the shorter girl’s shoulders. She hesitates for a long few seconds, long enough that Sara is about to ask her what’s wrong when she leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Sara’s forehead. Sara is stunned by the sudden affection, and she looks down, gathering herself.

By the time she looks up again, mouth open to say something, anything, the window is open once more, and Nyssa is gone.

 

XxX

 

“Okay,” Laurel says loudly as she marches into Sara’s room. It’s a week into summer vacation, and Sara has done nothing but lay in her room, sleep, read, and text Nyssa. Laurel sits down on the edge of her younger sister’s bed, making Sara groan and roll over, facing towards the wall. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Sara asks, flipping onto her back and glaring up at her sister. Laurel exaggeratedly sweeps her eyes up and down Sara’s form, which is dressed in sweatpants and a tank top and tangled in her sheets. Sara sighs. “Okay, fine,” she mutters. She sits up against the headboard. Laurel raises her eyebrows expectantly. “I don’t know what it is,” Sara begins. “But I just…I don’t feel like I belong here anymore.”

“Here?” Laurel asks, brows drawing together in confusion. “What do you mean, here?” Sara shakes her head.

“Here,” she repeats. “Home. Starling. Anywhere I used to belong. Maybe Nanda Parbat changed me more than I thought it did.” Laurel nods.

“I understand,” she says, but Sara can tell that she doesn’t. The younger girl shakes her head and looks away.

“I know you want to help, Laurel,” Sara murmurs. “But you _don’t_ understand. And you can’t fix everything.”

“I don’t want to fix you,” Laurel replies gently. “I just want you to be happy.” Sara looks back at her. Laurel gazes at her earnestly, and the younger girl shakes her head.

“That’s the problem,” she explains. “I don’t know what will make me happy.” Laurel says nothing, but the look on her face is dripping with pity, and Sara Lance does not want anyone’s pity, so she rolls over and stays silent, a clear dismissal. Quietly, Laurel gets up, touches Sara’s shoulder gently, and leaves the room.

The moment the door closes, Sara reaches over to her bedside table and turns on her phone. Her background is the one photo she has of herself with Nyssa. It isn’t visible in the picture, but she’s sitting on the taller girl’s lap, with one arm slung around her neck. Sara is pressing a kiss to Nyssa’s cheek, and while Nyssa is making a face and leaning away from her, Sara can see the smile fighting its way through.

It strikes her suddenly that they look like a couple. A happy couple. For some reason, that idea doesn’t scare her as much as it used to.

 

XxX

 

A month into summer vacation, Sara kisses a girl.

She’s at a party at Tommy Merlyn’s mansion (Tommy is eighteen now, and Malcolm hasn’t been home in months, and while Oliver and Tommy don’t drink like they used to, it could never be said that they don’t know how to host a party). The room down the hall smells repulsively of weed, the girl smells and tastes like cheap beer, there are at least thirty other people in the room with her, either grinding on each other or singing along terribly to the pop music blasting through speakers that were probably high quality in a previous life (one pre-Tommy Merlyn), and Sara feels more alive than she ever has.

A kiss turns into making out against a wall, and that turns into making out on the couch in the corner with hands underneath shirts, because sensible restraint has never really been Sara’s strong suit, anyway.

After, the other girl stumbles off down the hall. Sara sits up slowly and glances around the room. No one is giving her a second glance, except a few creepy guys in the corner, and they stop shortly after she mimics Nyssa’s death glare in their direction. She feels like it should be a bigger deal, her first kiss with a girl. There should be staring or confusion or at the very least, silence. But there isn’t. People keep dancing and drinking and laughing, and the fact that her entire world just tilted on its axis is…small. Irrelevant.

“Hey,” a somewhat familiar voice says from her left. The couch cushion dips, and Sara looks up to see Oliver Queen sitting next to her, looking shockingly sober. He’s regarding her quietly, waiting for her to speak.

“You saw that, huh?” she asks. He nods. He says nothing, though; he does not question her or demand an explanation, and as much as Sara loves her sister, she much prefers Oliver’s treatment of her highly ambiguous sexuality (though, if that kiss is anything to go by, perhaps not so ambiguous anymore) to Laurel’s.

“Do me a favor,” Sara says. “Don’t tell Laurel.” Oliver nods.

“I won’t,” he agrees. “But…you know she wouldn’t mind, right?”

“I know,” Sara confirms. “But that’s not the point. This–this needs to be mine, just mine, for awhile.” Oliver gives her a half-smile, stands, and disappears back into the party. Sara is left sitting with her world spinning off the path, and an irrepressible feeling of hope ballooning in her chest.

 

XxX

 

“I want to go back,” Sara announces. Quentin stares at her.

“Sorry, I think I misheard you,” he says. “You want to go _back_ to boarding school?”

“Yes,” Sara confirms. More staring.

“… _Why_?” he questions, as if Sara wanting to return to Nanda Parbat defies every law of the universe (which it quite possibly does). Sara shrugs.

“I like it there,” she says. “I think it’s where I need to be.” Quentin looks at her like her desire to go back to boarding school is the greatest mystery he has ever encountered.

“You think it’s where you need to be,” he echoes. Sara nods. “Are you serious about this?” She nods again. Her father sighs heavily, running his hands over his freshly shaved head. “I don’t know about this, Sara,” he mutters.

“Why?” she asks, and she’s doing her best to sound calm but her voice is cracking with the idea of not seeing Nyssa next month. “You didn’t have a problem sending me away the first time.”

“I had money to send you away the first time,” he says, and Sara feels her stomach drop. Seeing the turmoil on her face, Quentin sighs. “I can send you back for first semester,” he tells her. “But you have to pull your grades up. If you can get financial aid, you can keep going. Deal?” Sara nods enthusiastically, and, on impulse, darts forward and hugs him.

“Thank you,” she murmurs into her father’s shirt. “You won’t regret this, I promise.” Quentin awkwardly pats her back.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. Sara wonders for a moment why he acts as if a hug is out of the ordinary, before realizing that it is. She hasn’t hugged him, simply because she can, in… _she doesn’t know_.

With that realization, she hugs him a little tighter, and it begins to feel a little bit more like it used to, before she stopped talking to him, before he sent her away, before her own house stopped feeling like home.

 

XxX

 

Sara steps into her dorm room in late August to find it exactly as she left it. She has avoided a roommate once again, by some miracle, and the only change to her room is a light layer of dust and a vague musty smell. She crosses to the window to fix the latter, a slight smile spreading across her face as she opens it and sees the tree outside.

She steps back and turns around, intending to unpack, but she is interrupted by the muted sound of feet landing on her floor by the window. An impossibly wide smile begins to form on her face.

“You know, I have a door,” she comments. The feet move a few steps closer, nearly silent on the wooden floor.

“I am aware,” an achingly familiar voice says, and suddenly every cell in Sara’s body feels like fire. If there were any doubts about her utter lack of heterosexuality, they are immediately assuaged by the fact that Nyssa’s voice makes her feel more than a boy ever has.

Sara turns, and there she is. Nyssa’s hair is longer than it was, hanging loosely about her shoulders. She’s tanner, and the freckles splashed across her cheeks are more defined, and Sara is struck by the sudden urge to trace them into constellations with her fingertips. Nyssa is smiling at her, in the way she only ever smiles at Sara, completely unrestrained, and Sara? Sara is gone. She can feel the last piece of her soul that still belonged to her fade away inside her ribcage. She doesn’t miss it at all.

“You came back,” Nyssa murmurs, and Sara practically leaps forward, throwing her arms around the taller girl. Nyssa catches her easily, and Sara buries her face in her neck, and Nyssa smells vaguely of some citrus-scented shampoo, and Sara swears she can feel her heart beating inside her chest.

“I came back,” she agrees, and she can feel Nyssa smile into her hair, and all of a sudden she can’t quite seem to get a full breath. She pulls away before she does something stupid like kiss her.

“Sara?” Nyssa questions, frowning at the sudden movement. “Are you alright?” She’s gazing at Sara intensely, and her eyes are almost black and _oh, my God_ , Sara thinks, _I’m in love with her._

_Fuck._

“I’m okay,” Sara manages to say, and while her voice is at least an octave higher than usual, she quietly thanks whatever deity is looking out for her that she doesn’t blurt out something stupid, like _your freckles are gorgeous and I really want to kiss you._

“You’re sure?” Nyssa asks, and Sara just nods this time, instead of risking opening her mouth. Silence falls, and there’s an awkward tension in the air. Silence with Nyssa is usually their default state of existence, but Sara’s sudden and extremely inconvenient onset of emotion is making their normal comfortable quiet distinctly uncomfortable.

“So!” she exclaims to break the tension. “You’re smart.” The statement elicits a raised eyebrow from Nyssa. “How do you feel about tutoring?” The eyebrow inches higher.

“I would be happy to help you, Sara,” she states. “I’m surprised, though. You’ve never shown a particular interest in academics before.”

“I’m interested,” Sara argues childishly. “Cells and algebra and…atoms…and all that.” Nyssa looks at her flatly, and that’s all it takes to make her drop the act. Sara wonders, if she’s this bad at lying to Nyssa, how she will possibly stop herself from blurting out her feelings at the first opportunity.

“Okay, so I’m not interested in school,” Sara admits. Nyssa nods, and no one but Sara would notice it, but she smiles, just a little, with her eyes. “I have to get my grades up if I want to stay.” And just like that, that invisible smile shatters.

“You’re not staying?” Nyssa asks in a small voice.

“No, I am!” Sara rushes, trying to reassure her. “I just need to do better in classes, that’s all.” Nyssa nods, but she doesn’t look like she believes her.

“How long?” she asks softly, and Sara’s shoulders slump.

“First semester for sure,” she answers. “After that…I don’t know.” Sara watches Nyssa absorb the news, watches her push the emotion off her face and nod like it doesn’t bother her. “Nyssa,” she chides. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Nyssa asks, deliberately obtuse.

“Pretend it’s not a big deal,” Sara says. “Pretend it doesn’t bother you.”

“It doesn’t,” Nyssa insists. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m going to tutor you, and you’re going to get good grades, and you’re going to stay. I’m not letting you go.”

“I’m stuck with you, huh?” Sara grumbles, but she’s smiling wider than she ever has before.

“You are stuck with me,” Nyssa agrees.

 

XxX

 

First semester passes in a haze. Sara reluctantly pulls her grades from Ds to Bs and As. Nyssa, who is taking a mix of junior and senior classes as a sophomore, tutors her in everything from trigonometry to literature analysis. Sara wouldn’t admit to it if someone held a gun to her head, but she finds Nyssa’s intelligence ridiculously attractive. She spends more time watching Nyssa flip a pen through her fingers than she does actually studying, but her grades inch up regardless, and the day finals end, Sara stumbles out of her math classroom dazedly. She wanders up the stairs and into her room, where she finds Nyssa sitting on her bed. Sara has already packed; her father is picking her up early, despite her fervent protests.

“Well?” Nyssa asks, looking at her expectantly. Sara shakes her head slowly, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“I think I actually…passed?” she says it like a question. Nyssa leaps to her feet and hugs her, making Sara stumble back a step. The dark-haired girl has grown more and more affectionate over the last semester, and as much as Sara is proud of her for gaining confidence, it does make having a gargantuan crush on her…difficult.

“Then you are staying,” Nyssa mumbles into Sara’s shoulder. Sara nods as best she can, still dazed from the fact that she may have somehow passed geometry.

Also the hug. The hug isn’t helping.

“Yeah,” Sara says eventually. “Yeah, I guess I am.” Nyssa finally lets go of her, stepping back and smiling at Sara as widely and proudly as the blonde has ever seen her.

Sara isn’t really sure what comes over her; maybe it’s the fearlessness that terrified her father for so long making an abrupt and inopportune comeback; maybe it’s just this _stupid_ crush, but whatever it is, it possesses her, and in a moment of utter lack of care for the consequences, Sara steps forward and kisses her.

It lasts barely half a second before Nyssa stumbles back.

“Sorry,” Sara blurts. Nyssa shakes her head, tracing her lips with her fingers with a bizarre expression on her face, and if Sara had stopped and really looked, she might have recognized confusion, surprise, and the unmistakable tinge of joy.

But she doesn’t, because her heart is pounding so fast it can’t possibly be healthy, and her hands are trembling, and her lips are still tingling, and her phone is buzzing in her pocket.

“My dad is here,” Sara blurts. It takes Nyssa by surprise; she blinks in confusion. “I have to go.”

“No!” Nyssa quickly exclaims. “Sara, wait–“

“I have to go,” Sara repeats. “I–uh, I’ll call you. Bye.” And with that, she grabs her bag and nearly runs from the room, barely managing to maintain a pace somewhat resembling a walk. Nyssa is left staring after her, eyes wide and heart beating a hole in her chest.

 

XxX

 

“I fucked up,” Sara announces. Oliver raises his eyebrows at her. They’re sitting in a burger restaurant; Sara is across from Oliver and Felicity (they’re holding hands under the table. They think they’re being subtle. They’re not).

“What happened?” Felicity asks. Sara has long since come out to Felicity (by some miracle, Sara’s sexuality is the one secret Oliver actually managed to keep from his girlfriend), and while their friendship is oddly matched and unlikely, the nerdy blonde is possibly one of the best friends Sara has ever had.

“I kissed Nyssa,” Sara says. Felicity chokes.

“That wasn’t what I was expecting,” Oliver comments, nonchalantly rubbing Felicity’s back as she coughs. “What did she say?”

“I don’t know,” Sara says. Felicity catches her breath and frowns at the other blonde.

“That sounds bad,” she comments.

“Yeah,” Sara agrees with sarcasm lacing her voice. “I left before she could say anything.”

“That _is_ bad,” Oliver concurs. “Call her.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Sara questions. “ _Sorry for kissing you, it’s just that I’ve been in love with you this whole time and too stupid to realize it_?” Oliver and Felicity look at each other.

“Honest,” Felicity says. “If nothing else.” Sara gives her an exasperated look.

“Thanks,” she mutters. “Being honest will totally help when she breaks my fucking heart.”

“If,” Oliver interjects. “ _If_ she breaks your heart. You don’t know what will happen. Maybe she likes you, too.” He looks at Felicity with an expression that makes Sara want to either gag or squeal. Possibly both. “It worked out for us,” he says softly.

“But I’m not you,” Sara argues. “And Nyssa isn’t you–“ she glances at Felicity. “–and, no offense, but everyone has known you two are hopelessly in love with each other since, like, third grade. You’re pretty much guaranteed to get married and have like ten kids. Nyssa and I were kind of not on my five year plan.” Felicity starts stuttering at the mention of marriage, and Oliver looks terrified.

“But you love her, don’t you?” Felicity asks when she collects herself. Sara looks down, where her phone is sitting in her lap, and she thinks of the photo on her lock screen, of her and Nyssa and _happiness_ , and she smiles involuntarily.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Yeah, I do. I really, really do.”

“Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it?” Felicity says. Sara looks between them, at where their hands are now resting on the table, fingers intertwined; she looks at the sheer, unadulterated love in Oliver’s face when he glances over at Felicity; she looks at the way they sit nearly on top of each other and somehow make it look natural, and she realizes she wants that with Nyssa.

“Yeah,” she agrees aloud. “I guess that’s that.”

 

XxX

 

It is not that simple.

Nyssa isn’t in Sara’s room when she returns to Nanda Parbat. She’s no longer enrolled in the Arabic class they had been taking together. Sara isn’t sure exactly where she disappears to at lunch, but the closest she gets to seeing Nyssa that first week is a glimpse of dark hair darting out the door behind the kitchens during lunch on Thursday.

By Saturday, Sara has had enough.

She starts at the bottom of the tree this time. Instead of starting the sizable pile of schoolwork that has been building on her desk at a rather alarming rate, she goes out into the yard, to the tree she fell from at the beginning of the previous year.

The first branch is twelve feet up, but Sara has always been stubborn. She drags herself up by knotholes and her fingernails until she manages to wrap her arms around the first limb, pulls herself up to sit on it, and immediately takes a break.

There is sap in her hair, and bark under her nails, and almost certainly at least three beetles of some sort in her clothes, but she has already embarked on this ridiculous journey, and she’ll be damned if she lets a few miniature demons with a frankly obscene number of legs stop her now.

The climb gets easier as she gets higher; the branches, although thinner, are closer together and easier to hold on to. Before she realizes it, she’s level with Nyssa’s window. It’s closed. _Wonderful_.

Sara can see Nyssa inside, seated at her desk, some obnoxiously thick book open in front of her. As she watches, that strand of hair falls into Nyssa’s eyes. It takes her nearly thirty seconds to push it aside. The familiarity of the gesture, one that Sara has seen countless times, makes warmth spread through her ribcage.

She digs through her pockets, mentally cursing her lack of forethought and failure to bring any pebbles to throw at Nyssa’s window. She comes up with a gum wrapper, two hair bands, half of a broken pencil, and a quarter.

She tosses the quarter.

Nyssa looks up at the sharp tap, and Sara desperately wishes she had brought a camera. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen her best friend’s eyes get that wide before. Nyssa jumps up and rips the window open.

“Hey,” Sara says, before the dark-haired girl can say anything. “I know you’re, like, super mad at me, but I climbed all the way up here and I don’t think I can get down, so if you can just let me in before ignoring me for the rest of our lives, that’d be great.” Nyssa steps away from the window bemusedly, and Sara crawls out across the limb. She does an awkward half-slide, half-jump through the window, and wishes, not for the first time, that she possessed half the inhuman grace Nyssa did.

“I’m not angry with you, Sara,” Nyssa says softly, after Sara crawls to her feet and brushes a few leaves from her hair (she isn’t quite sure how she’ll deal with the sap; she decides, as she does with most things, to deal with it later).

“Really? Could’ve fooled me,” Sara says, and it’s a joke, but something in her voice makes it less funny and more hurt. Nyssa winces at the audible evidence of the pain she’s caused her friend.

“I am not,” she repeats. “I…you kissed me, Sara.” Sara can pinpoint the exact moment she feels her heart drop into her stomach.

“Yeah,” she agrees nonchalantly, not a hint of nervousness in her voice, despite the way her hands are shaking in her pockets. “I did. And I don’t regret it. Do you?” Nyssa hesitates.

“You apologized,” she says instead of answering. “I assumed you felt it was a mistake.”

“I apologized,” Sara says. “And then I thought about it, and I’m not sorry. I don’t regret it. I’m glad it happened.” Nyssa nods, but she doesn’t look Sara in the eye. She looks as if she’s trying to fold in on herself; her arms are crossed tightly, defensively, across her body, and her shoulders are hunched forwards, a sharp contrast to her normally impeccable posture.

_She’s scared_ , Sara realizes, and it’s true: Nyssa is utterly terrified. Her arms are folded to hide the trembling of her fingers, she’s biting her lip to stop the fear from spreading across her face; but Sara knows her, and she can see the way her eyes are looking everywhere except Sara.

“Were you…not okay with it?” Sara questions, all of her faux confidence slipping away, leaving her voice raw and every complicated, messy, real feeling in her written across her face. “Because if it–if you didn’t want to–“

“You just had to go and kiss me, didn’t you,” Nyssa interrupts. She’s smiling, but it’s not happy. It’s sardonic and hopeless and it makes Sara feel like there’s broken glass in her veins instead of blood. Sara makes a helpless noise, but Nyssa talks over her. “You just had to go and change everything. You–“ Nyssa cuts herself off and turns away.

“Nyssa…” Sara mutters, stepping forward. The other girl doesn’t respond. “Nyssa,” she repeats. Nyssa shakes her head and turns around, and Sara’s chest hurts at the sight of the confused mess of emotions on Nyssa’s face.

“I just wanted a friend, a real friend, for once in my life,” Nyssa says. “And then–and then I fell in love with you and I thought that, if I just didn’t say anything, nothing would have to change. And now…now everything is going to change and I don’t want it to.”

“You’re in love with me?” Sara asks dumbly, and there’s a film of tears forming over Nyssa’s eyes, but she smiles, for real this time.

“Yes, you fool,” she laughs, blinking away the tears. “Yes.” Sara grins, and Nyssa keeps laughing, although it sounds dangerously close to tears.

“Well that’s good,” Sara announces when the laughter dies down. “Otherwise me being in love with you would be _really_ awkward.” Nyssa steps backward, and it’s like all the strings holding her up have been cut. She half-sits, half-collapses into a sitting position on her bed.

“You…” she trails off as Sara steps closer and gently takes Nyssa’s face in her hands. She tilts her chin up and kisses her, and it lingers this time. Sara only pulls away because she can’t hold back a smile. “…oh,” Nyssa breathes out.

“Yeah,” Sara says. Nyssa’s fingers tighten slightly where they’ve curled into Sara’s shirt by her hips, and the dark-haired girl away slightly. “Hey,” Sara murmurs. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Nyssa looks up at Sara. “I’m scared.” She speaks it like a prayer, earnestly and desperately. “If we do this and it doesn’t work, I’ll lose my best friend. And you mean too much to me for that.”

“So don’t,” Sara whispers. “Don’t lose me. This is real, okay? Us. This is real and this is good and it is _worth it_. If we don’t try, we’re going to regret it for the rest of our lives. And if we do try it and doesn’t work, you’ll still be my best friend. We’re never going to lose that, alright? I promise.” Nyssa stands slowly, and she’s close enough to Sara that their noses brush.

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Okay?” Sara asks, almost hesitant. Nyssa smiles and kisses her and it feels like a promise.

“You convinced me,” Nyssa says, and Sara can’t stop a comically huge grin from spreading across her face.


	2. got young blood running through our veins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here, guys. only took me like three months. title from afterglow by all time low, because i genuinely don't think i've turned their new album off since it came out. important stuff at the end, please read the notes there.

They make it three weeks into junior year before they get caught. It’s a small miracle they make it three days.

Sara develops a penchant for catching Nyssa in the hallways during class and dragging her outside to their tree to make out. Rather improbably, neither of their grades suffer. Significantly more probably, they get very much caught.

By Ra’s al Ghul.

Sara sits outside the guard’s office, bouncing one knee nervously, staring anxiously at the closed wooden door. She can’t hear anything, but Nyssa followed her father through that door nearly ten minutes ago, fingernails digging into her palms, and Sara can’t force herself to look away. Whatever is happening behind that door, she has a creeping, horrible feeling that it could shake their relationship to its very foundation.

The door slams open, and Sara jumps up from her seat. Nyssa strides out, her face carefully blank, eyes dark and stony. She’s moving so quickly that Sara has to half-run to catch up.

“Nyssa,” Sara calls. She frowns deeply at the lack of a response. “Babe!” She jogs forward, reaching out and catching her girlfriend’s hand. Still, Nyssa keeps walking. “Nyssa, stop!” She tugs on the taller girl’s arm, and, finally, she stops. “Come on, I’m getting flashbacks to freshman year here. What happened in there?” Nyssa turns, and the blankness in her gaze unnerves Sara. She’s used to being able to read the smallest nuances in Nyssa’s expression, but right now, she may as well be looking at a brick wall.

“He…” Nyssa shakes her head. “It’s over.” A shiver of dread shoots down Sara’s spine.

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“Us,” Nyssa says, her voice empty and monotone. “We’re over.” Sara shakes her head, crossing her arms tightly, as if doing so can shield her from those words.

“Nyssa, no,” she denies. “Don’t…please don’t do this.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Nyssa says, her stonefaced facade beginning to crack. Sara stares up at her pleadingly, and Nyssa sighs heavily, running her hands over her face and beginning to pace.

“My father, he…he made me an ultimatum,” Nyssa explains. “We stop seeing each other, in any capacity. No more sneaking out, no more dates on weekends, no more tutoring, no more eating meals together, no more anything. Or he takes me out of school and sends me home.” Sara tries to speak, but Nyssa talks over her. “And–and this is selfish, and I’m sorry, but I’d rather watch you from a distance than not see you at all.”

“So you just figured you’d make that decision without me?” Sara snaps. Her nails are digging into her arms, terror manifesting itself as anger. “What, I don’t even have a choice? I don’t get a say in this at all?”

“Sara, that’s not–“

“That’s exactly what you were doing,” she hisses.

“And what would you have me do?” Nyssa retorts, whirling on her girlfriend. “Would you rather I leave? I can go back and tell him I changed my mind!” Sara shakes her head. Her hands are at her sides now, fists clenching and unclenching sporadically.

“You know that’s not what I want!” she shouts. Nyssa steps back at the volume. Sara’s whole body is moving anxiously; she’s breathing heavily, making meaningless gestures with her hands, one leg shaking. “I just want _you_ ,” she finishes, stilling, cementing her gaze firmly on Nyssa.

“I know,” Nyssa says, one hand lifting, as if to reach out and touch Sara, but it stops halfway. “But my father…he will never allow it. And I don’t have a choice but to listen to him.”

“So…what?” Sara says, her anger rising again. “You’re just going to spend the rest of your life letting someone else tell you what should make you happy? You really think you’ll be able to live like that?” Nyssa looks away. “No, look at me.” She shakes her head slowly, closes her eyes for a moment, and turns to face her girlfriend. “I love you. Okay? I love you. And you love me, and we both know it. And maybe I can’t stop you, but you better believe I am going to fight with everything I have to keep you from walking away from that.” Nyssa makes a sound caught between a laugh and a sob, wiping away the tears that are suddenly falling from her eyes.

“Why do you have to be so goddamn _stubborn_ ,” she chokes out, smiling and crying at once. Sara smiles faintly, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug.

“You love it,” she jokes. Neither of them laugh.

“I don’t know what to do,” Nyssa says in an almost-whisper. Sara steps forward, pulling her girlfriend into her and hugging her as tightly as she can.

“I don’t either,” she admits. “But whatever it is, we’ll do it together.”

 

XxX

 

“Hi, excuse me,” Sara says, sliding into the room. The man inside looks up from his desk and gazes at her, expressionless. “You might remember me? The girl who you caught making out with your daughter?”

“I recall,” Ra’s al Ghul says impassively. Sara grins, but there’s no joy in her eyes, just fierce determination.

“Wonderful,” she says, sitting down in the chair opposite his on the other side of the desk. “Then you’ll also remember threatening Nyssa in an attempt to force her to break up with me? Because somehow, in that sick, twisted mind of yours, you believe making her dump me would make her less gay?” He folds his hands together on the desk.

“I take it from your presence here that she failed to do so,” he says. Sara sets a manila envelope on the desk between them, crossing her arms smugly.

“Do you want to take a look at that?” she asks. Ra’s regards her warily before reaching out and opening the envelope. There’s a long few moments of silence in which Sara could swear the ticking of the clock above the door becomes exponentially louder.

“What is this?” Ra’s asks finally, setting the papers back down, his voice cold and deadly.

“It’s a form to file for legal emancipation,” Sara says. “Filled out and ready to send.”

“I can see that,” he snaps. “What are you attempting to prove?” Sara unfolds her arms, leaning forward over the desk.

“We’re not trying to prove anything,” she denies. “It’s an ultimatum.”

“An ultimatum,” Ra’s repeats.

“Yep,” Sara confirms. “Either you back the fuck _off_ and leave Nyssa and me alone, or you lose any legal right to call her your daughter. Your choice.” Ra’s leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

“You truly believe you can go through with this?” he says scornfully. “Nyssa is a child. Any judge with two brain cells to knock together would deny this.” Sara smiles at him.

“Actually, we spoke to the headmaster,” she informs him cheerily. “He agreed that, considering Nyssa’s exceptional grades, she’d be allowed to stay here on a scholarship if you stopped paying tuition. And even if that were rescinded, I have a friend with a _huge_ trust fund.” Ra’s jaw tightens, and Sara recognizes the tic from Nyssa as a sign of growing frustration.

“What is your endgame here?” he demands. “What do you _want_?”

“We just want to be together,” Sara says. “And Nyssa isn’t very interested in being your daughter if you’re going to stand in the way of that.”

“You leave me very few choices,” Ra’s says.

“Is that an agreement to back off I’m hearing?” Ra’s sighs and leans forward over the desk.

“Do you know why I was so opposed to your… _relationship_ with my daughter in the first place?” he asks. Sara raises an eyebrow.

“Because you’re a misogynistic, homophobic, piece of shit excuse for a human being, and you’re so stuck in your outdated morality that you can’t bear to see your own child being happy because it defies your eighteenth century ideals?” To his credit, Ra’s doesn’t even flinch.

“Because you, Sara, are weak,” he says. “Or I perceived you as such. You seemed a whiny, overprivileged child without any purpose or discipline.”

“And now?”

“And now, I perceive you as a whiny, overprivileged child with some slight ingenuity and a penchant for disobeying your betters.”

“You know, I think I can work with that.” Ra’s ignores her joke, standing from his chair and wandering over to one of the bookshelves lining the walls to study the titles.

“You may leave now,” he tells her. It’s more of an order than a statement. “You and my daughter may do what you will.” Sara stands, hiding her grin. She scoops up the envelope and heads for the door, but she’s stopped when he calls out, “Oh, and Ms. Lance?” Sara turns. Ra’s turns from staring resolutely at the bookshelf to pin her down with the most frighteningly emotionless glare Sara has ever seen. “If this… _distraction_ even remotely affects Nyssa’s academic achievement, it will not matter if you put a court order on my desk. You will _never_ see her again.” Sara ignores him and slips out the door, half-running back to her dorm room.

“How’d it go?” Nyssa asks, rising from her seat on Sara’s bed as her girlfriend comes charging through the door. Sara doesn’t even slow down, leaping forward and tackle hugging Nyssa back down on to the bed. “I’ll take that as a good sign,” Nyssa laughs, voice muffled into Sara’s shoulder.

“He fell for it,” Sara tells her, lifting her head from the crook of Nyssa’s neck to look at her. They’re barely half an inch apart, noses brushing. Nyssa grins up at her.

“You’re brilliant,” she says. Sara returns the smile, pushing a little farther off of Nyssa.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nyssa breathes. “Now get down here and kiss me.”

“Okay.”

 

XxX

 

“So what are you doing over Thanksgiving break?” Nyssa lifts her head from its rather comfortable position tucked into Sara’s shoulder.

“Nothing,” she says curiously. “I stay here every year. You know that.” Sara begins to smirk, and Nyssa abruptly sits all the way up.

“I know that look,” she says. “Whatever absurd plan you’re about to come up with, don’t–“

“You wanna come home with me?” That stops Nyssa in her verbal tracks.

“…huh?” is all she can manage. Sara sits up as well, grabbing both of her girlfriend’s hands.

“Do you want to come home with me?” she repeats. “It’d be more fun than staying here and, like, reading books or whatever other nerd things you do in your free time.”

“Your father would be there,” Nyssa says after several long seconds of staring blankly at Sara.

“And my sister,” Sara agrees cheerfully. “She’s coming home from college for the weekend. Oh, and my mom. She comes to all our holiday things. My dad always tries to impress her and she always talks about whatever guy she’s dating to discourage him. It’s entertaining, in a kind of depressingly hopeless way.”

“You want me to meet your family,” Nyssa clarifies, staring at their linked hands, seeming rather stuck on the idea.

“Yeah, I do,” Sara says. “Look, Nyssa…” She scoots forward, releasing Nyssa’s hands in favor of reaching up and placing a hand on either side of her jawline, lifting her face up gently to look her in the eye. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. It’s just that…I’ve kinda been planning on you sticking around for awhile, and you would have to meet them eventually, so I just figured why not now, you know?”

“Awhile?”

“Yeah,” Sara says. “Like, the rest of my life, awhile.” Nyssa’s face is unreadable, her eyes ten shades darker than usual. “Unless you don’t want that,” Sara hastily tacks on, lifting her hands off of Nyssa’s face. Suddenly, the taller girl springs forward, one hand sliding around to the back of Sara’s neck, the other on her cheek, and kisses her fiercely.

“I want that,” she murmurs against the other girl’s mouth.

“Good,” Sara manages to say as Nyssa pushes her down until she’s on her back, the taller girl lying on top of her. “Sounds good.”

“Now _stop talking_.”

 

XxX

 

“So, Nyssa, what classes are you taking?” Laurel asks. It’s the day before Thanksgiving. Quentin is out, picking up Dinah from the airport, leaving Nyssa, Sara, and Laurel to fend for themselves (meaning, of course, that they had ordered pizza. Sara was thoroughly horrified, though not surprised, when Nyssa had eaten hers with a knife and fork. Laurel had found it highly entertaining). “Sara says you’re some kind of genius.”

“Sara likes to flatter me,” Nyssa says, shooting an amused look at her girlfriend. Sara grumbles under her breath. “I’m taking calculus AB, AP physics, AP literature, anatomy and physiology, and AP economics.”

Silence.

“Told you you’re a genius,” Sara says into the quiet through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. Nyssa rolls her eyes.

“She’s kind of right,” Laurel says, almost awed. “How do you even have _time_ for all of that?” Nyssa shrugs.

“I’ve learned to work quickly and manage time very well,” she begins. “My father–“ Sara cuts her off with a loud groan.

“Can we ban talking about your father for the next five days?” she complains. “Or years, while we’re at it?” Laurel gives her a confused look.

“You know her father?” she asks.

“He’s a security officer,” Nyssa explains, at the exact same time as Sara says, “He’s a douchebag.” They look at each other with nearly identical exasperated faces.

“Okay,” Laurel interrupts the staring contest, drawing out the ‘o’ sound. “So–“ She’s cut off by the sound of the front door opening. Quentin and Dinah walk in, and Sara silently thanks God that they’re saved from the awkwardness of her father trying to take her mother’s coat when she simply removes and hangs it herself.

“Hi, mom,” Sara greets, standing to hug her. Dinah, however, catches sight of Nyssa on the couch, raising her eyebrows curiously.

“Who’s this?” she asks. Sara shoots a glance at Quentin, standing behind his ex-wife. He spreads his arms, as if to say _what did you_ want _me to tell her_?

“This is Nyssa, mom,” Sara introduces after glaring briefly at her father. “My girlfriend.” Dinah frowns.

“Girlfriend…” she trails off, but the question is obvious.

“ _Girlfriend_ ,” Sara repeats, more firmly this time. “As in, girl that I am dating. Girlfriend.” Dinah blinks.

“You didn’t tell me you were gay.”

“I’m not.”

“What? But you just said–”

“Look, are you pissed or not?” Dinah shakes her head, mouth opening and closing confusedly.

“Honey, of course I’m not angry,” she reassures her daughter. “I’m just confused. If you’re dating a girl, wouldn’t that make you gay?” Seeing the exasperated look on Sara’s face, she hastens to add, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

“Not gay,” Sara repeats. “I’m bisexual. You know, the B in LG _B_ T?” Dinah looks just as confused as she did ten seconds ago, but she nods in acquiescence (most everyone Sara knows quickly learns not to argue with her; her family learned that lesson when she was two and insisted Barney was a child-eating monster until they all agreed with her to get her to shut up).

“So, Nyssa, is it?” she asks, turning her attention to the girl sitting on the couch who has yet to say a word.

“Yes,” Nyssa says. There’s a long, awkward pause.

“Right!” Laurel announces, standing. “Good to see you, mom. Nyssa, how about I show you around the house?” Nyssa frowns.

“But Sara already–“

“Come on! I’ll show you Sara’s baby photos!” That brings a devious grin to Nyssa’s face.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding–“ Sara starts.

“ _Language_!” Dinah scolds. Laurel grabs Nyssa’s hand, dragging her out of the room. Sara glares at her sister’s retreating back. Eventually, though, she has to turn and face her mother.

“So dad didn’t tell you,” she says abruptly. Dinah glares at Quentin, although it’s more affectionate than angry.

“He did not,” she agrees, crossing her arms. “This Nyssa girl, you met her at school?” Sara nods. “Is she your roommate?”

“Haven’t got one,” Sara chirps cheerfully. “Haven’t had one at all, actually.” Dinah raises an eyebrow.

“ _Really_ ,” she intones. “So you and Nyssa are entirely unsupervised in your free time?” Sara shoots a look at her father, silently begging him to not tell Dinah how, exactly, he found out about her relationship with Nyssa.

“Mom,” she groans theatrically.

“I’m just concerned,” Dinah says. Sara can feel her face growing hot at the implications, and she covers it with her hands. “I want to make sure you’re making safe choices.”

“ _Mom_!” Through the cracks in her fingers, Sara catches a glimpse of the teasing grin on Dinah’s face, and she lowers her hands, crossing her arms and glaring at her mother. “ _Never_ do that again,” she grumbles. Dinah laughs.

“Oh, come give me a hug,” she says, extending her arms. Sara drops her played-up exasperation and steps forward, returning her mother’s embrace.

“Missed you,” she mumbles into the older woman’s shoulder. Dinah squeezes her younger daughter tight.

“Missed you too,” she whispers before releasing her. “Now! Tell me more about Nyssa. How did you two meet?”

“I fell out of a tree and almost died,” Sara says casually. “Nyssa carried me to the infirmary.” Dinah gasps, opening her mouth to speak.

“That is a gross exaggeration and you know it, Sara,” Nyssa says amusedly from behind her. Both mother and daughter turn to face Nyssa. “You fell fifteen feet and sprained your ankle. And you walked to the infirmary. Kind of.” Sara sighs, shaking her head at her girlfriend.

“Don’t steal my thunder,” she complains. Nyssa laughs (genuinely, Sara notes; a rarity around anyone but Sara herself. It appears that sense of relaxed safety extends to Sara’s family now, as well).

“Don’t embellish,” Nyssa says teasingly. “And you were never really _in_ the tree, if we’re being honest.” Dinah shakes her head, confused and amused.

“Maybe we should save this particular story for another time,” she comments, sitting down in one of the chairs opposite the couch. “So, Nyssa, what classes are you taking?” Sara groans.

“I swear to god, if the only thing anyone talks about this weekend is school…” she mumbles. Nyssa, already in the middle of listing her insane class schedule, smiles softly at her girlfriend, reaching out across the space between them on the couch and taking her hand.

Though neither Sara nor Nyssa see it, both Quentin and Dinah catch the movement and share a knowing look.

 

XxX

 

“You get to take all that as a _junior_?” Felicity asks. “That’s so not fair! I had to take AP econ online because my school doesn’t even _offer_ it!”

“Private school has its perks,” Nyssa agrees. “I had to complete my language courses as independent studies, though. Nanda Parbat only offers Spanish, French, and Latin.” Sara turns from staring blankly at Felicity and Nyssa and faces Oliver, who’s sitting across the table from her, hands wrapped around a coffee cup (still black coffee; Sara is still judging).

“You realize we’re never going to get our girlfriends back,” she tells him. “They’re going to be nerds together until we both shrivel up and die of boredom.” Oliver looks at her and shrugs.

“Works for me,” he mutters, sipping his coffee and looking at Felicity next to him, who is now gesturing wildly with her hands and talking faster than should be humanly possible (Nyssa looks caught somewhere between impressed and utterly terrified).

“You are _so_ whipped,” Sara teases, with an accompanying sound effect. Oliver looks back at her flatly.

“And you aren’t?” Sara looks Nyssa, who’s now leaning over the table, speaking quickly (not Felicity fast, though; Sara is pretty sure Oliver’s girlfriend is secretly an alien whose only power is talking too fast). She catches the word _quantum_ and decides to tune the rest out.

“Fair point,” Sara agrees, taking a sip of her own coffee (a mocha with caramel this time; Nyssa had given her an amused look when she ordered it and called her a child). Oliver smirks at her briefly, which Sara responds to with a roll of her eyes, and they both turn back to their girlfriends.

 

XxX

 

That summer is hard.

(Nyssa comes home with Sara for Christmas as well, and it’s the best Christmas either of them have ever had. The Queen holiday gala is the first time Sara has ever seen Nyssa in a dress, and in her opinion, _that_ is an even better gift than the _gorgeous_ leather jacket Nyssa gives her.)

It’s the first time they’ve been apart for more than a few days since the summer after sophomore year, when everything between them had been new still. Logically, time would make the separation easier.

It doesn’t.

They’ve become somewhat reliant on each other. It takes Sara a week to get more than four hours of sleep without Nyssa beside her (Ra’s al Ghul, despite his agreement to leave them alone, had pulled some strings and gotten Nyssa saddled with a roommate for the second semester. Her name is Talia, and she’s a coldhearted bitch, which turns out to be a blessing, as she doesn’t particularly care where Nyssa goes every night, so long as she _isn’t_ in her room. In the end, the clumsy attempt to separate them results in Nyssa all but moving in with Sara).

Laurel notices the exhaustion and dejection in Sara’s eyes (of course she does, Sara could never hide anything from her sister), but she doesn’t say much, opting to instead cook all her little sister’s favorite meals in an attempt to cheer her up.

(Sara loves her sister more than anything, she truly does, but food doesn’t fix the giant, Nyssa-shaped hole in her life and her heart and her _everything_.)

Oliver is more sympathetic, but less pitying. He drags her out with Felicity and Tommy to fairs and restaurants and movies and concerts and just about anything he can find to take her mind off of missing her girlfriend. She becomes an awkward fourth member to their age-old trio ( _the Neville to their Harry, Ron, and Hermione_ , Sara tells Nyssa on one of their Skype calls, shaking her head in horror when Nyssa stares at her blankly). It’s nice hanging out with them, even if she sometimes feels like a fourth wheel nailed to the handlebars of a tricycle. It would probably be more than _nice_ and closer to incredible if Sara wasn’t walking around feeling like half a person.

“You’ll be back before you know it,” Felicity tells her one day when they’re waiting in line at the theater. It’s meant to be comforting. Sara just shrugs and mutters something unintelligible, before turning the conversation back to the movie they’re about to see.

Sara hears her father and sister talking about it, sometimes. They throw around words like “codependence” and “unhealthy”. It’s almost funny to Sara, how other people don’t seem to get it. They don’t understand that it’s _Nyssa-and-Sara_ , that they’re practically one entity, that they’re _permanent_.

(Oliver and Felicity get it, she supposes, but they haven’t been separated by anything but their own mutual stupidity since they were six years old, so maybe they understand, in a way, but they don’t _understand_ , not the way it feels to be hundreds of miles apart.)

By late August, Sara has never been more ready for anything than to go back to Nanda Parbat.

Unfortunately, her life has a habit of never going according to plan.

When she finally half-runs into her room, fully intending on abandoning her suitcase and climbing the tree up to Nyssa’s room (she’s mastered the jump from her window to the nearest limb, although she’s not nearly as graceful about it as Nyssa), there’s a girl sitting on the other bed in the room.

She has her feet up, black combat boots still on, and she’s leaning back against the headboard, staring intently at her phone. Her dark hair is short and wispy. She looks like she belongs more at a skatepark in the Glades than at Nanda Parbat.

“Who the hell are you?” Sara asks, never one to beat around the bush. The new girl barely spares her a glance.

“Your roommate,” she says, sounding bored. Sara shakes her head.

“I don’t have a roommate,” she snaps.

“You do now.” Sara huffs angrily, shoving her suitcase over to her bed. She marches over to the window, throwing it open and climbing onto the sill. “Well, I knew I was annoying,” the girl on the bed quips, tossing her phone down and eyeing Sara’s actions with interest. “Didn’t know I was unbearable enough to make you jump out a window after one conversation.” Sara twists to glare at the girl, still awkwardly crouched on the windowsill.

“There’s a tree right there,” Sara points out.

“And you’re gonna climb to…where?” the girl asks. “Up into the sky to meet Jack and the jolly green giant?”

“You’re mixing up your fairytales with your canned vegetable companies,” Sara says. “And no, actually, I’m climbing up to meet my girlfriend who I haven’t seen all summer, so if you could just, y’know, shut up…” The girl raises her hands placatingly.

“Go,” she says. Sara listens, carefully leaping out onto the branch she had so spectacularly missed that first time. The tree is easy now; she’s memorized every limb between her room and Nyssa’s.

“Hey!” Sara calls when she’s just above level with the window. Nyssa looks up from where she’s sitting at her desk, and Sara thinks the grin that spreads across her face might just be the best thing she’s ever seen.

“Hey,” Nyssa breathes. Sara shimmies out across the limb, sliding in the window with considerably more grace than the first time she had tried the maneuver. She lands on her feet, and before she can even straighten up, Nyssa’s arms are around her.

“Careful!” Sara laughs when Nyssa squeezes her so tightly that her ribs start to hurt. She’s hardly complaining, though; she’s holding Nyssa just as close.

“I missed you,” Nyssa murmurs into Sara’s shoulder. The words make Sara’s heart ache. For all the agony that summer had been for Sara, she’d hardly ever thought that it would hurt Nyssa just as much.

(Mostly because she wasn’t sure anyone had ever hurt the way she did, like her entire body had just been hollowed out, like she couldn’t get a full breath for three months, like some invisible hand had reached into her stomach and ripped out her organs.)

“I love you,” Sara responds (they’ve spent enough time missing each other, and Sara silently promises herself that they will never be so far apart, ever again). “So much. I love you.” Nyssa pulls back just far enough to kiss her, and it’s about to go farther when the door opens behind them.

“Oh, _gross_ ,” Talia sneers. “Go lez out somewhere else.” They pull apart, and Sara shoots her an angry look.

“Let it go,” Nyssa murmurs when Sara opens her mouth to respond. “Let’s go down to your room.” Sara smiles sheepishly at the reminder.

“Yeah…about that…” she begins. Nyssa raises an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“I kinda have a roommate now.” Silence.

“I will _murder_ my father in his bed, I swear to–“

“Okay!” Sara interrupts. “No death threats. I don’t think it was him. I’m, like, 98% sure she’s a freshman.” She frowns. “Freshwoman?” Nyssa gives her an exasperated look that Sara has become very familiar with (enough to start mentally referring to it as the Look, capital L and all).

“Let’s see if we can convince her to leave for an hour,” Nyssa decides, grinning slyly. “Or three.”

“I like how you think. Let’s take the stairs, though?”

“Nope,” is all the new girl (whose name is, apparently, Sin; Sara doesn’t believe for a moment that that’s her real name, but she’s unable to get anything else out of her) says when they ask her to leave.

“ _Seriously_?” Sara groans, sitting heavily on her bed. “I’m a senior, you’re, like, twelve, doesn’t that mean you have to listen to me?”

“Fifteen, actually,” Sin corrects.

“Whatever,” Sara snaps. “Look, this is my _girlfriend_. We haven’t seen each other in three months.”

“I got it,” Sin says. “And I really don’t care. Go find somewhere else to fuck.” Nyssa sputters wordlessly. Sara crosses her arms, glaring at the freshman girl.

“You and I are going to have problems, kid,” she decides. Sin rolls her eyes at the nickname and reaffixes her stare on her phone.

 

XxX

 

As it turns out, Sin and Sara do not have problems.

They have a feud. Which is rather exciting, in Sara’s opinion (Nyssa just finds it annoying).

It starts with Sara asking to borrow Sin’s hair products, Sin suspiciously agreeing, and Sara “accidentally” filling half a shampoo bottle with bleach. It’s not enough to completely bleach her hair, but it leaves it quite a few shades lighter, nearly yellow in some patches and a strange, disturbing shade of orange in others.

Sin retaliates by calling a security guard to their room when Nyssa and Sara are…well, _occupied_. Nyssa escapes to the bathroom in time, and they both are immeasurably grateful it wasn’t Ra’s al Ghul.

Sara counterattacks with several nearly impossible-to-find holes in Sin’s pillow, and the resulting slow leak of feathers bothers them both for weeks, as Sin keeps switching their pillows in revenge.

It continues like this for months. Sara returns from Thanksgiving break (Sin stayed at Nanda Parbat) to find her roommate sleeping on the dorm lounge couch and their room’s entire floor covered in plastic cups filled with water. They develop a bit of a joking camaraderie, however; the pranks go from angry to petty, and their reactions change from yelling at each other to impressed, disbelieving laughter and promises to get the other back. Nyssa finds the entire thing both amusing and bizarre, refusing to participate in the pranking but laughing at the increasing absurdity of both girls’ jokes.

Senior year seems to fly by, a haze of weekend dates and study sessions that inevitably devolve into making out on someone’s bed (once, it was Sin’s; she had not been happy upon her return to the dorm room). Nyssa applies to far too many colleges and gets accepted to every single one. Sara applies to a few and the return letters pile up on her desk, unopened. Sin calls a truce on the prank war a month before school ends, citing a desire to actually be friends with Sara without the teasing before she graduates and moves away.

“You haven’t opened any of your college letters yet,” Nyssa says quietly one day in May, three weeks before they graduate. They’re sitting under the tree outside their windows this time, no longer afraid of being caught by Ra’s (they stopped being scared of him the year before; besides, he moved into administration at the semester break).

“Nope,” Sara mutters.

“Why?”

“Didn’t feel like it,” she shrugs. Nyssa regards her with an indecipherable mix of emotions on her face. “What?”

“Those colleges want a confirmation from you,” she says. “Many of them have deadlines that already passed.”

“Whatever.”

“Sara.”

“Look, I really don’t care, okay?” Sara turns to face her girlfriend. “It’s no big deal.” Nyssa gazes at her as if she’s some sort of complex puzzle.

“You don’t want to go to college, do you,” she says. It’s phrased like a question, but it doesn’t sound like one. Sara looks away.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “What else am I going to do?” Nyssa reaches out, gently taking Sara’s hand.

“You don’t have to, you know that,” she says. “It’s not a requirement.”

“I know,” Sara agrees. “But…I don’t know. If I do go, I’ll probably do okay. I’m not bad at school. But if I don’t, what do I even do? Where do I go?”

“You could come with me.” Sara looks back over at her incredulously.

“Come with you,” she repeats. “Somehow, I don’t think Yale is going to want me.” Nyssa shakes her head.

“I don’t mean to Yale,” she corrects. “My father is paying for an off-campus apartment for me. You could stay with me, find a job in New Haven.”

“Who’s going to hire some random kid with no work experience and a high school diploma?” Sara questions. “And even if I could get hired, I don’t really want to be a waitress for the next four years.”

“What are you good at?” Nyssa asks. Sara lifts a shoulder.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Fighting? I used to take self defense lessons. Paranoid cop father and all that.”

“There you go!” Nyssa announces. “Teach self defense or karate or something.”

“I’m getting the feeling you just really want me to move in with you,” Sara jokes. Nyssa’s hesitant smile slips. “I mean, it _sounds_ nice, but is it practical? I took judo lessons in middle school and a six week class the summer after freshman year. It’s not exactly a glowing résumé.”

“I think you could do it,” Nyssa insists. “You just have to prove to whoever’s hiring that you’re good enough, and you could do that.”

“You’ve never even seen me fight.”

“Sara, please.” Her tone is pleading and desperate, both of which are new emotions on Nyssa. “Maybe you end up doing martial arts, maybe you don’t. I just don’t want to be there without you.”

“So this _is_ about moving in with you.” Nyssa doesn’t acknowledge the joke. Sara rubs at her face, agitated. “Nyssa, I want that, okay? Believe me when I say I want to be with you more than anything. I just don’t know how to do that.”

“You’re scared,” Nyssa realizes. Sara pulls a blade of grass out of the ground, shredding it with her fingertips and watching the tiny strips of green float away on the light breeze.

“Yeah,” she admits. “I am. I don’t know how to be an _adult_ , Nyssa. I barely have my shit together here. How am I supposed to just go run my own life?”

“With help!” Nyssa grabs one of her girlfriend’s hands. “You have me, you have Laurel, you have Felicity, you have Oliver–“

“Oliver doesn’t exactly qualify as an adult,” Sara snorts. “Last I checked, he and Tommy were trying to open a club and applied for a liquor license with _fake IDs_. He turns twenty-one in a year, you would think his trust fund is big enough to wait that long.”

“Maybe not Oliver,” Nyssa concedes. “But you don’t have to have everything figured out, Sara. You have family. You have people you can rely on.” Sara tangles her fingers with Nyssa’s, staring at their linked hands. “Sara, please.” Nyssa reaches her free hand out and gently touches Sara’s face. “Please take this risk with me.” Sara looks over at her, contemplative.

“Okay,” she half-whispers. Nyssa’s hand tightens around Sara’s.

“Okay?” she repeats. Sara smiles warmly.

“Yes, I’ll go to New Haven with you,” she clarifies, rolling her eyes. Nyssa grins wider than Sara has ever seen.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, throwing her arms around Sara. Sara returns the hug, heart pounding in her chest.

 

XxX

 

“You ever think about getting married?”

It’s the day after graduation. Sin has already left (there were no tears at that goodbye; Sin had threatened to shave off her eyebrows in her sleep the week before if Sara so much as looked like she was going to cry). Talia is gone as well (and thank God for that, in Sara’s opinion). Sara is sitting on Nyssa’s bed, watching her girlfriend go around the room, placing her belongings in her suitcase in an almost frighteningly orderly manner.

“Is that a hypothetical question or your idea of an actual proposal?” Nyssa asks calmly, glancing up from her meticulous folding of her clothing.

“Depends,” Sara quips with a devilish grin. “Would you hypothetically say yes?”

“ _Sara_.”

“Okay, fine,” the girl in question mutters, turning serious. “I don’t know. I guess I was wondering why we’re waiting. We’re both eighteen.” Nyssa turns from her folding to look at her girlfriend.

“Somehow, I doubt either of our fathers would particularly approve of a spontaneous wedding straight out of high school,” she says. “And while I’m no longer all that concerned about what my father thinks of our relationship, he is paying for my lodging and part of my tuition at Yale. I’d rather not be forced into a dorm and a mountain of student loans.”

“You really think he’d stop supporting you if you married me?” Sara asks skeptically. Nyssa shrugs.

“The possibility seems unlikely, given his obsession with my academic career,” she agrees. “But it is a possibility. We would also be risking the anger of your father, and I am much more concerned with what he thinks of me, seeing how I intend to spend the rest of my life with his daughter, and him hating me would be somewhat of an issue at any future family occasions.”

“They can’t get mad if they don’t know,” Sara says. Nyssa arches an eyebrow at her.

“Are you suggesting I elope with you?” she questions.

“Would you want to if I was?” Nyssa sighs heavily at her girlfriend’s antics.

“Somehow I think that would make both our fathers very unhappy,” she says neutrally.

“So that’s a no?”

“I thought this was hypothetical.”

“So that’s a hypothetical no?” Nyssa looks at the open, hopeful look on Sara’s face.

(For a moment, she sees an entire future of this; lighthearted bickering and teasing, meals together, anniversaries, holidays, a house with her and Sara and two cats and maybe, just maybe, a tiny form with Sara’s laugh, or Nyssa’s hair, or maybe neither but full of their love. It’s the future Nyssa has imagined, quietly, in the back of her mind, since that first, spontaneous kiss, only now, every scene is being rewritten to include a gold band on both of their hands.)

Finally, Nyssa sighs, shakes her head affectionately, and leans down, gently kissing Sara.

“I didn’t say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the important stuff: my work on the from dawn 'verse is going on hiatus. now, you probably won't notice, since i post like twice a year anyway, but i thought you all should know. i'm doing nanowrimo this month, and while i'm just trying for 50k words total, not on any specific project, i'm mostly working on a faberry fic that might someday find its way on here. because of that, work on the from dawn 'verse's next installment will most likely begin at the end of july. next up is westallen, featuring a confirmed appearance by felicity and probably one from oliver, among possible others. follow the series so when i do get around to it you'll get a nice, convenient email notification! i hope you enjoyed this chapter, leave a comment and kudos! if you have a request for a scene you want to see in this 'verse, leave it in the comments or message me on tumblr and i'll get around to it as soon as i can. my writing tumblr is thoughts-into-ink, and my multifandom blog is @daisys-quake. message me on either about anything regarding this 'verse or with a fic request, and i'll get back to you within the day! again, leave a comment and kudos! thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> so that was real real gay. like REAL gay. leave comments and kudos, like ALL the comments and kudos. they give me life. talk to me over on tumblr @daisys-quake so i can cry about katrina law coming back to arrow to someone else instead of just alone in my room at three in the morning. feel free to request oneshots or scenes in this 'verse of any couple i've written so far in the comments or over on tumblr and i'll probably write them eventually. second chapter of this fic will probably show up eventually.


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